Page 48 of Healing Hearts
I laugh, nudging him playfully. “Gotta love small-town life. Everything is a spectacle.”
We make our way to the bar, where Charlie is holding court with a glass of wine in hand. Her curly hair bounces as she gestures animatedly, her infectious laughter cutting through the noise. Vivian, meanwhile, is seated at a high table surrounded by a small group of admirers who are taking pictures and videos of her. A reporter from the local paper is leaning in, hanging on her every word.
Trevor chuckles, shaking his head as we watch Vivian soak up the attention. “She’s loving this.”
“Of course she is,” I say, rolling my eyes. “The spotlight’s her natural habitat.” Even though we’ve never officially met, I don’t like her even in the slightest, although I may be biased as she once dated Trevor. But I can tell, she’s not someone I would have liked if I didn’t already know that tidbit of information.
Just then, the music cuts out, and a cheer rises from the crowd. On a small makeshift stage near the back, the emcee for the evening, Ian Gallo, steps up to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The announcement of this year’s Miss Hibiscus! Or better yet, four Miss Hibiscus’!”
The crowd erupts in applause as the four familiar figures step onto the stage—Florence, Gladys, Joan, and Betty, the Walking Ladies, each holding a bouquet of hibiscus flowers, wearing a sparkling crown and a sash proclaiming them “Miss Hibiscus.”
Trevor and I burst into laughter as the ladies begin arguing over who therealwinner is.
“Now, now,” Florence says, adjusting her crown. “Clearly, I have the poise and grace befitting the title.”
“Poise and grace?” Gladys huffs. “You tripped over your own two feet during the parade down Main Street!”
“Well, at least I didn’t spill hibiscus punch all over the mayor!” Joan shoots back.
Betty waves a dismissive hand. “Enough, you old bats. Everyone knows I’m the fan favorite, right?” She urges the crowd on.
The crowd roars with laughter, and Trevor leans closer, his voice low in my ear. “This is better than any sitcom I’ve ever watched.”
“I’m just glad they didn’t crown only one of them or we’d be witnessing a royal brawl,” I quip, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
Ian tries to restore order, but it’s clear the Walking Ladies are enjoying their moment in the spotlight far too much. Finally, the crowd begins chanting, “Sophie! Sophie!”
Vivian, ever the performer, stands and strides toward the stage, a dramatic flair in her step as she holds her phone out and records the entire thing. The reporter follows closely, notebook in hand. She climbs the steps, tossing her ponytail like a soap opera villain and taking the microphone from Ian with a flourish.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins, her voice dripping with faux gravitas. “The time has come to reveal the truth. The identity of Sophie Quinn will no longer be a mystery!”
Trevor mutters under his breath, “Here we go.”
I panic and my hand involuntarily grips Trevor’s tighter. In response, he kisses my temple trying to relax me.
Vivian raises her arm, pointing an accusatory finger. “Sophie Quinn is none other than… Charlie!”
There’s a beat of stunned silence before Charlie, mid-sip of her wine, chokes and spits it out in a fine spray. The crowd erupts in laughter.
“Me? Sophie Quinn? A bestselling author?” Charlie manages between coughs, her face turning red from laughter. “Sweetheart, I’m the head chef of The Silver Willow. I barely have time to sleep, let alone write bestselling novels, plus I type with one finger. You’ve got the wrong girl, but nice try.”
Vivian’s smug expression falters as the crowd jeers. I don’t know what comes over me, but before I can stop myself, I step forward and blurt out, “I’m Sophie Quinn!”
The bar goes silent. Every head turns toward me, and my face flames with embarrassment and determination. I swallow hard, lifting my chin. “I’m Sophie Quinn,” I repeat, this time louder, my voice steady.
Charlie freezes mid-sip of her wine, nearly spilling it in her lap this time. Her wide eyes dart to mine, then to Kendall,who looks like she’s forgotten how to breathe. Charlie and Kendall both gape at me, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water.
Vivian’s lips twist into a sneer. “Oh, please. You expect anyone to believe that? Why would a mousy librarian be a bestselling author? You read books, not write them.”
“Believe what you want, but I am Sophie Quinn,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’m telling you this because it’s the truth.”
Trevor steps forward, his voice clear and firm. “Yes, Vivian, sheisSophie Quinn.I’ve seen her work, Vivian. Brooke is the bestselling author Sophie Quinn.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd, disbelief and curiosity mingling in equal measure. Kendall’s jaw drops, and Charlie sets her glass down with a loudthunk.
“Wait a second,” Charlie says, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “Are you serious, Brooke?”
